


Firework

by agentz123



Series: Who is Donald Duck? [12]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst and Anguish, Both to Be Developed Later in the Series, Dont Come at Me about the Math, Gen, Not Sure but Just in Case, PTSD, Protective Scrooge McDuck, Remorseful Gyro, Scrooge is an old man, Slight DT87 Gyro, Slight DT87 Scrooge, Veteran Donald Duck, trigger warning?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentz123/pseuds/agentz123
Summary: Scrooge prepares to celebrate the anniversary of the Money Bin's construction.
Relationships: Della Duck & Donald Duck, Della Duck & Gyro Gearloose, Scrooge McDuck & Donald Duck, Scrooge McDuck & Gyro Gearloose
Series: Who is Donald Duck? [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890283
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	Firework

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This fic takes place shortly after the events in my story "The Sea Duck." Like all of the works in the series, these two are not connected so reading it beforehand is not necessary in order to understand what's going on here.
> 
> Enjoy!

Scrooge marched excitedly through the halls of the Money Bin, his niece and nephew shuffling sleepily behind him into the elevator. “So, why did you force us out of bed at five a.m., again?” 

“We’re celebrating the eighty-seventh anniversary of the establishment of me money bin! Gearloose here is working on some invigorating illuminations for next week, and he says he’s ready for me to take a look at the testing.” 

“Okay, fine. So why are _we_ here?” Donald had begun to doze off on her shoulder, and she laid her head on top of his. 

Scrooge wouldn’t admit it aloud of course, but he really needed their opinion on the work. He had no idea what was considered “hip” nowadays, and his niece and nephew were the coolest teenagers he knew...

“ _Because_ ,” he half-shouted, causing the kipping kids to jump. “You two need to learn the value of hard work! And sometimes that means waking up early.” 

“Aren’t you rich enough to _own_ time by now, Uncle Scrooge?” Donald yawned. “Or at least be able to afford someone else to wake up for you?” 

“Not the point!”

“ _ **GOOD MORNING, ALL!**_ Ready to run beta test 13.7?"

The three ducks, all suddenly wide awake, turned to look at him in concern. “Thirteen?” 

“Ah, yes.” The inventor absent-mindedly gestured to the back of the lab, which was covered in scorch marks and plumage. “I’m sure the kinks are worked out now.” He kicked away bits of rubble in order to access his desk, where the remote was sitting. He squinted at the controls before pulling a screwdriver out of his vest and fiddling with the device.

One of the damaged vents collapsed behind him and slammed onto the desk, throwing blueprints, lumber, and screws everywhere. 

The three of them took a large step back. 

“Ready to die?” 

“Yep. It’s a shame we never made it to Disneyland, though. Thanks to _some_ people.” 

Both of them eyeballed Scrooge menacingly. 

“Would ye two quit that? Go ahead, Gearloose.” 

Gyro led the three of them to a glass pillar that stood in the center of the lab. He quickly slipped on a pyrotechnician’s helmet and slammed his fist on the red button. A breathtaking display of fiery hues exploded in the tube. Bursts of crimson, bronze, and violet formed small cracks in the glass, but none of the sparks found their way to the gaping birds.  


Della tore her gaze anyway in order to catch the look on her brother’s face. Her smile immediately dropped. “Uncle Scrooge! Something’s wrong with Donald!”  
Scrooge redirected his attention and noticed how sweaty his nephew had gotten and how pale his feathers had become in just a matter of seconds; he was nearly transparent. “I’m not leaving her,” he muttered, nearly inaudible. 

“Stop,” Scrooge whispered in realization. “ _Gearloose, stop!_ ”

The crackles and sizzles morphed into cannons and gunshots, and the dusty firecracker residue oozed out of emptying barrels in the form of clouds of smoke.

“No -- Donald? _Donald_. It’s me, your uncle Scrooge. I am here. Ye are not there, wherever ye are, okay? Breathe. You’re here, with me and your sister and my scientist.” He turned to said scientist. “Give me something with a potent smell. Ach, something that WILLNAE kill me nephew, Gearloose!” Gyro slowly retracted the offer of acid and started looking for something else. “What is this? _Motor oil_? You don’t have any measly mint around here? What do I pay ye for?” Scrooge sighed and took the cup anyway, whaffing under his nephew’s beak. “Della, find something cold. A sliver of ice, perhaps…?” He wasn’t sure of what else to do. Should he shake the lad out of it? Let it run its course? How many of these has the boy faced before today? How many of these has he experienced alone? 

The older duck’s gut twisted itself into knots as he watched his nephew take a sniff of the oil and give a small cough. “It’ll be okay,” he hiccuped. “I’m here with you now. Can you tell me where we are?”

Wind whipped through Donald’s feathers as he stood on the deck of the ship, glaring at enemy lines in order to analyze their next movements. He suddenly sprung into action, throwing his weight onto a nearby comrade and sending them both to the creaking planks. An arsenal of bullets soared over their heads. 

The golden retriever gave a breath of relief. He helped Donald up after scrambling to his feet. “Thanks, Duck.” 

Thanks to years of treasure hunting with his uncle, a small glint of ruby in the corner of his eye had caught his attention. Donald nodded distractedly and rushed off to a forgotten nook of the ship. 

“Oh no…” he whispered, shock sucking the breath right out of him. The rich scarlet had trailed underneath a fallen beam. He could barely make out the small pair of combat boots that had been drowning in a sanguine pool of splinters. “I’m coming, okay?” With immense strength he wasn’t aware he had, he shoved the wood off and came beak to beak with the ship’s admiral. “No,” he sobbed. “ _No_.” Despite the strong and consoling scent of the sea water, an intense iron odor hung in the air, threatening to suffocate the both of them. Donald lightly patted her cheek, and she groaned. A flicker of hope sparked in his chest as he quickly tore off a strip of his uniform and attempted to find the source of the blood flow. “Admiral! You’re not dying on me today, alright?”

“Is...is that you, Duck?” 

He swiftly nodded. “Where is it?”

He could no longer see her mahogany eyes. “...back.” 

He glanced at the darker, fresher puddle spurting from her side.

“I’m going to move you, okay?” 

Scrooge removed his coat and laid it on the cold tile. He pulled his nephew into his lap and started cradling him. After a moment, the old duck leaned into his ear, and began softly humming the same Gaelic lullaby he used to sing to the howling hatchlings years ago. Della slid down and huddled into her uncle’s side, and Gyro pressed into hers. “Uncle Scrooge? What’s wrong with him?” 

“What’s wrong with you? We can’t just leave her here!” 

“Duck, _leave her_. That is an order!” Before the captain could continue reprimanding him, another cannon flew overhead, causing him to continue to run off and bark out commands for retreat. Donald’s senses sharpened. He could feel every single drop of sweat running down his body, and despite the fact it was pumping at a fatal rate, he was able to count every single beat of his heart. And the _taste_. Blood filled the air, blending with gunpowder and creating a disgusting sulfuric brew on his tongue. “Come on!” he growled through the urge to vomit, rage simmering under his distress. His arms trembled and his eyes leaked as he threw his admiral’s decaying body across his shoulders. They pushed through the fumes, and he finally spotted the hatch that led into the medic’s cabin just a few meters away. “We’re almost there, ok --” He caught a few notes of gentle music, and he squinted through the smoke. It can’t be…

“Uncle Scrooge?” 

The old duck gave the three of them a smile, and Donald felt oddly rejuvenated for a second before terror came crashing down again. “Wait a second, what are you doing? Why are you here? I-I can’t help you both,” he sobbed, trying to readjust the admiral’s position in preparation to carry his uncle anyway. 

“No, laddie. I’m here to help _you._ ” 

Donald opened his eyes slowly, his dilated pupils wider and glassier than Duckworth’s fine china. “You’re fine? You’re okay?” 

His uncle nodded patiently. 

They shut again and he furiously shook his head in confusion. He began babbling in a search for words. “Doctor. I...I have to get her to the doctor. Can you help me carry her? Please?” 

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Scrooge clopped closer to his nephew, slid the admiral off of his back, and laid her gently on the deck. She let out a flooded gasp, and Donald felt as if he were floating. He looked up and saw his soul encased in a precarious bubble, peacefully drifting away into the sky, except it was the sea, and, and, it was...a laboratory? 

“Donald,” Scrooge soothed. “It’s okay. She made it out, remember? Thanks to your copious courage.” 

_Made_?

The bubble popped. 

Why was he talking like that? “She _can’t_ if I don’t get going! Get below deck! I don’t want you to get hurt. Where’s Della?” 

Della’s head shot up from her uncle’s shoulder when she heard her brother call her name listlessly. She snatched his hand and gripped it tight, hoping to yank him back into reality. “Don! I’m here! I got your back, remember?” 

“She’s not here. And neither are you, mo leanabh.” He held out a homey wing. Donald’s eyes darted furiously from his uncle to his ally. 

“She’s okay?” he asked wearily, unsure of what was real and what was fantasy.

“Yes. And you will be, too.” 

As soon as their fingertips touched, a strong grip on his shoulder whisked him back. “I thought I told you to leave her!” 

“Get off of me!” He swung blindly, and Scrooge’s lens shattered. “Oh, Uncle Scrooge,” he whimpered. “I’m so sorry…” 

“Donnie!” He ignored the pain in his purpling eye and squeezed his nephew tight. “It’s fine! Everything will be fine…” He began whispering in Gaelic again as Donald wept into his chest. 

Gyro felt oddly intrusive as he watched the pain force Donald’s face to scrunch up in sorrow and as he listened to the sobs echo throughout the lab. He slowly separated from his friend and hugged his knees close, wishing he was somewhere else, anywhere else, anyone else. Why did this happen? His inventions were _not_ evil.

Were they? 

Della pulled him back closer to her. “It’s okay, Gyro. You didn’t know. _I_ didn’t even know…”

After a long moment, Scrooge placed a kiss on his ducklings’ foreheads and gave Gyro’s shoulder a forgiving squeeze. “I have to make a few calls. Stay here with your brother.” 

The next morning, all of the firecrackers in Duckburg had been wiped from the shelves. A city-wide ban had been set in place, and anyone caught setting any off would face immediate imprisonment.

**Author's Note:**

> Now, this was not meant to follow the standard textbook definitions of flashbacks and dissociation line-by-line. My goal when writing this was to focus on the main characteristics of these issues: reliving the memory, and the being out of touch with reality. I tried to accomplish this by having Donald in limbo, which is why his memory of the event was distorted by his uncle and what was going on in the lab at the time.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I'm here if anyone needs to talk!


End file.
